With Bells On.

Today has featured an invasion of Morris Men  – did you know they have an annual convention? – and misbehaving bodies.

I was somewhat psychologically prepared to be surrounded by a number of that peculiar English breed known as the Morris Dancer but I didn’t realise there would be upwards of 6 troops ranging from Plymouth to Yorkshire. The sound of bells filled the bar and tankards lined the tables; the theme was fools and beasts so lots of people dressed as horses and men dressed as women. It was .. well in some respects its a wonderful example of all that is quirky and entertaining about the Great British public & its certainly good for our revenue because Morris and Real Ale & Cider seem to go well together but it doesn’t make for an easy morning. No matter how much I enjoy some of their company I also detest the particular form of self-opinionated buffoon that seems to be attracted to the ‘traditional english’ scene.

Today has also involved soothing my wife after a row with smother and later as gripped by mini-seizures she panicked about losing her memories of our good times. I promise my love that I am holding on; I won’t let you turn into her and I will always keep our memories safe.

I don’t know if its the weather but I hurt. My back is taut and aching, my knees, wrists  and fingers are stiff and sore and in general I am feeling sorry for myself. Urgh – pain like this reminds me of how lucky I am most of the time. I hate hurting so much that I can’t decide whether moving or not moving is worse. Some days are hard but I just need to keep on reminding myself that it could be worse. Easy does it.

 

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